when all had been said, when all had been done . . .




In The Wake,  of Devotion

 ( Widows Walk )



She looks,  out across the Millennia,  out across an endless path of winter,  in the hope of finding one Day’s respite from sorrow,  worn,  as She wears Her faith,  with the courage of Titans . . .

and deep within Her Heart,  lies Patience,  hiding from the folly of men . . . for they would steal from Her,  all they can never understand,  and they would bury Her,  under all they can never know . . .

and She will carry Her burden through the Ages,  as She,  as Always,  has done,  without the comfort of Solace,  without the shelter of Kindness . . . for in this She stands alone,  listening to The Ring of Truth,  telling Her of all that might have been . . .

and slowly,  She turns toward Yesterday,  and smiles,  as Her Children of The Clouds gather before Her,  to bathe within Her Abundance . . . and Her Eyes catch a glimpse of Wisdom,  as She lays upon Her twilight Path,  from Her Basket of Knowledge,  the Tears that became Stars,  long ago . . .

and in the time of a Wink and a Promise,  She forgives all that came before,  as She walks beside Remember,  there along The River of Souls . . . and in the distance,  drifting in the swells that would soon make quiet thunder upon Her Shore,  anchored to a beachhead of impossible Moments yet to come,  stands Fate,  bound to the deck of a Ship,  called Evemore . . .


*      *      *


and there,  across a Sea of Glass,  walks The Reason Why . . .




from out of nowhere . . .



Flying Blind


June 15, 1944 0200 hrs


In the half-light, made all the more sinister by the rain-heavy approach of storm clouds across the face of a moon not long for this night, and without even a glance at his watch, he knew it was just the perfect moment in an all-too-perfect plan. Unconsciously shifting the weight of the package to ease what Fate had burdened him with, he stared out beyond the open maw of the hanger doors, toward all that remained of the final solution no one else had the guts or conviction to accomplish. Second thoughts had no place on a stage set by a world gone mad, and only the sane ever knew from which direction victory would finally show its elusive face, and it was ours.

Easing out from beneath a fuel-soaked shroud of canvas, where he had waited with the patience of stones for hours, he moved with long-practiced stealth from the cavernous hanger, toward the phalanx of planes sitting in the darkness out on the tarmac, like some ghostly flock of birds waiting for the promise of sunrise. After surveying the seemingly endless ranks of aircraft, he finally spotted the one that mattered most by the tail number now scorched into his memory, and smiled, knowing that this particular bird was never going to kiss the sky again.

Just as the last fleck of moonlight faded from the night, and armed with a righteous intent that would surely re-write the pages of an unknown future, he hefted the package over his shoulder, and headed for the back of the plane, while quietly humming the last refrain from the national anthem, and thinking, there, but for the grace God . . .





created for a freelance writing/editing assignment on oDesk in August of 2011 . . . as an intro for a biography/screenplay for some long-forgotten client,  which failed to make the short-list . . .





otherWise and otherWhen




The Wing,  and The Prayer

(  of Ever,  finding Love,  Again  )



with a Nod from Fate,  a Wink from Destiny,

     and a Smile, on The Face,  of So It Shall Be . . .





for Thine, is The Kingdom




The Promise,  of Deliverance

(  to Love,  Again  )



      what Destiny never knew,  and Fate has not forgotten . . .





from Book I,  The Ring ( First Light ) The First DoveTale – The Rhythm of Life




of Far Horizons




To Have,  and To Hold



Fate,  are The Hands that guide Us,

     Destiny,  is The Place,  She reveals . . .




from Book II,  The Sword ( Second Sound ) The Fourth DoveTale – The Web of Pearls



and in The Stillness




The Wrens,  of Ever

(  Feather,  Light  )






in this Meadow,

lay the Arrows by the score,

broken,  pointless,  without Purpose,

      as are All,  the Tools of War . . .

nEver Again will The Eyes

of Men,  stare down those

shafts with Hate,  for Bow

and Quiver,  lie in A River,

      known by name,  as Fate . . .

still,  they lie,  nEver to fly,

to pierce the Heart of son

and lover,  nor foul the Air,

in fiery glare,  to singe the

      tears,  of wife and mother . . .

’ Lo,  Come What May,  is

Here,  today,  to lay these

Arrows to rest,  for in The

Sky,  instead will fly,  The

               Wings,  of Love’s

                                    Bequest . . .



Book III,  The Diamond ( Third Beginning ) The Ninth DoveTale – The Shield of Courage